Monday, July 13, 2009

It used to be a loveseat. Now it's just a seat.

I never really pictured myself walking down the aisle in a crucifix museum, wearing a pouffy dress that would make me look like an even bigger asshole than I already am. Add to that, organ music and weird relatives staring, wondering if it's going to be a cash bar. Then finally being handed over to a man in a rented tux, who 13 hours prior was getting a lap dance from a pole dancer. This is the person you then publicly and soberly vow to honour and obey until death. Well, sort of sober.

I'd like to meet the moron who thought up that sick ritual.

How many people roll over the morning after their wedding all hungover and covered with wedding cake icing and look at their new 'til-death-do-us-part spouse and say, what the fuck have I done? And, hey, wait a minute, that's not icing.

In truth, I would be afraid to get married simply because I change my mind too often. Daily sometimes. My taste also changes. One day, I'd wake up and say, "You know what, this has been fun, but I don't think you match with where I think I'm going with this colour scheme I have in my head, so would you mind getting your hairy ass off of my sofa, because that is going too".

No one expects you to take a vow to stay married to the same sofa until death, so why another human being? Oh sure you can reupholster. Or slipcover. Or move it to the den. And you can pretend to tolerate it, for the sake of the children. But, when the honeymoon is truly over, sometimes you just have to face facts and move on.

God, I love starting the week with a fresh, shiny coat of bitterness.

So, thank heaven for a new business in Dartmouth. I love them because their tagline is "The newest thing in town is slightly used." That could be said for the middle-age dating scene as well, but this happens to be a furniture consignment business. Your Home Consignment Centre.

How many times have you donated a perfectly good lamp, or piece of furniture, not because you're hoping some needy crack addict will want it for their living room, but just because the kind charity people will come and pick it up. It's easy. And you get to feel like a do-gooder, ever so briefly.

Well, this is a recession and every bit counts, so now you can call Your Home Consignment Centre instead. Not only will they come and pick up your no-longer-wanted-on-the-voyage items – you'll get some money if it sells.

Wouldn't it be great if, instead of divorce, you could just arrange to have your gently worn spouse moved to a convenient consignment centre. The person you see as a useless fart machine, who doesn't help with the kids or make you feel special anymore, just may be the apple of someone else's eye.

And with any luck they may come with a matching, icing-resistant ottoman.

Your Home Consignment Centre have a great, informative website that explains everything: or call 407-HOME.